


going, going, gone (for now)

by coastalhorror



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hope's Peak Academy (Dangan Ronpa), Angst, Attempted Murder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Existentialism, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Murder Mystery, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideation, Touch-Starved, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Love, Violence, bonding again after not seeing each other for about six years, falling back in love, hands are pretty cool :), imagine hopes peak academy. now imagine it's a regular high school and ultimates don't exist., literally one line so far but still, mentions of kirizono, so keep that in mind as you read!, that's the setting for parts of this fic, this fic is going to go Places many of which will be dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29130078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coastalhorror/pseuds/coastalhorror
Summary: "This trip will be good for me," Shuichi tells himself, voice cracking from not having used it yet that morning. Today was going to be a good day, and if it wasn't, then he still had three months of good days to have.This trip will be good for him. He'll make sure of it if it’s the last thing he does.(Or: Shuichi gets sent to the coast to relax for a few months, and Kokichi has a bad habit of running from his problems.)
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 16
Kudos: 26





	going, going, gone (for now)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! And welcome to my first (and hopefully not last) multi-chapter fic! I'm very excited to get this out into the world, but first a few notes!
> 
> 1\. This fic is going to be dealing with A Lot of things and I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable, so please heed the tags! I have a tendency to forget things easily, so if I ever don't have something tagged I'll usually either put a content warning at the beginning of each chapter or put it in the tags at a different time if it's not already there. 
> 
> 2\. Saiou is definitely endgame, I know some of the tags seem intense, but please know that I plan to have this fic end as positively as I can make it. 
> 
> 3\. My posting schedule is not a set thing! My plan is to post a new chapter each week, but I just started a new job and semester in my school, recently, and I help out with local community things too, so I am pretty busy. Know that I do not plan on abandoning this work! If I ever go a few weeks without updating, it's simply because I've put too much on my plate and have been too busy to write a new chapter. 
> 
> 4\. OKAY. so this fic has a timeline, and throughout it we're going to jump around a bit to tell the story, okay? Some parts of chapters are going to be flashbacks to when the kids were in Hope's Peak still, other parts are going to be set in the present. Some parts of the story are going to be told from Shuichi's perspective, others from Kokichi's, but I'll never switch perspectives within the same scene unless there's an obvious cut signaling the change. If that's not your thing, feel free to not read! 
> 
> That should be all I wanted to say for now, I think. Again, thank you so much for coming to read my new fic! I'm very excited for people to read it, so I think I'll leave you to it now!
> 
> CW: Gun violence, strong language, mentions of underage drinking (only in a few lines, not an integral part to the chapter).

“Got any last words?” 

To live in a small town, in Kokichi’s own very humble, very honest, and very experienced opinion, is to fake your own death. Or maybe, in this case, it’d be the cause of it. Honestly, he wasn’t quite sure yet. 

The wind atop the lighthouse was almost strong enough to knock him off his balance, as he stood stock-still on the grated balcony, the gun in his assailant’s hand shaking slightly. It probably wasn’t a good idea to have come up here when a storm was set to be starting soon. Or when there was a serial killer on the loose. He mentally kicks himself. What kind of fucking dumbass would do that? (Kokichi Ouma, that’s who.)

Their hand grips the gun tighter. “Well?” Kokichi swears he can see the blood rushing through the killer’s pale knuckles, sharp and jutting out from their place holding onto the gun, as if it were  _ their _ lives on the line. 

Absently, he wonders what he looks like right now, and then he pushes down the thought that he’s being too vain. If he’s going to die, he at least wants to die looking presentable. For all he knows he could look like one of those beautifully tragic paintings they show you in art class, or that hang in those famous art museums. Like that one painting of Ophelia’s corpse, or a classmate’s deceased relative. 

“I’ll give you five more seconds to answer.” 

Maybe a photo of his corpse will circle around the town like that painting of Ophelia circled everyone’s high school art class. 

“Five.”

Maybe. It really depends on who finds his body. And the state of it, he supposes. 

“Four.”

Cherry comes up here a lot— to paint mostly. Maybe she’ll find his body and paint his corpse so he can live forever as an oil painting. People would come from all around the world just to see him. He’d be famous, and everyone knows fame is the root of happiness. (Yeah, right, he thinks to himself. Fame is the root to all happiness just like a candy forms a relationship with a tooth. Good at first, and then it starts to kill.) 

Really, he doesn’t really care who finds his body in the end. He just hopes it’s not—

“Three.”

He was supposed to have a date tonight, wasn’t he? Maybe things could have gone well on it. Maybe—

“Two.” There was a quick intake of breath, Kokichi isn’t sure who’s.    
  


He figures he should probably reply to the killer’s question, huh?

“One—”

“Yeah,” Kokichi sighs heavily. “Yeah.” The killer quirks an eyebrow familiarly and Kokichi has to actively keep from retching on the spot. He wishes he weren’t so used to the action. 

A bright flash of lightning blinds him for a moment, followed by a low rumble. How ironic, that a flash of light would appear before his very eyes as he’s about to die. What kind of sick prank is that? (Maybe it’s not a prank, he thinks. Maybe this is actually what happens when people die. Oh well, not like he’ll find that out conclusively anyway.) 

There’s a comforting weight in the pocket of his stupid jacket that he got in the wonderful shade of color-vomit a few years back. 

“I really should have charged my phone this morning,” Kokichi replies after a moment, and there’s absolutely no way the stinging in his eyes is from the threat of tears, no way in hell. (He hopes his jacket doesn’t get too bloody, he quite liked it.)

“Ha.” The killer laughs, dry as ever. “Alright then.” 

Maybe the date would have gone well, he thinks. When was the last time he’d gone on one? 

Months? Years. 

Will he be missed? He wants to be missed. God, he hopes it’s not too late for someone—  _ anyone _ — to miss him. 

Kokichi feels his heart stutter in his chest as the gun goes off. 

_ God,  _ he hopes Shuichi will miss him. 

\--

“You’re overworked and look like you’ve just been raised from the dead. I swear to god, Saihara, if you don’t take a vacation I’ll throw you out of this building myself.” 

“Oh, I don’t look  _ that  _ bad,” Shuichi replies, looking up from his spot on the chair across from Kirigiri’s desk (a lovely space Shuichi liked to occupy at least once a week) as she stood next to her office window. She shoots him a quick glare. She doesn’t seem amused. 

She sighs, her thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of her nose tightly, face raised up towards the water-stained ceiling of her office. “I think Frankenstein’s monster would have an easier time passing for a living human than you,” she says with her eyes squeezed shut. 

He only hums in response for a moment. “Wasn’t Frankenstein’s monster already a living human? Just reanimated?” 

“Don’t change the subject,” Kirigiri replies with a type of passivity only seen in her when someone’s getting on her nerves. He should know, he’s seen it been used on more coworkers of his than he could count. It was strange having it directed at him. The tone she used doesn’t help the gnawing sensation he feels in his gut. 

“Anyways,” she breathes out, removing her hand from her face and opening her eyes. “As I was saying before, you’re practically dead on your feet at this point, and I’m saying you need a break.” Her words were accentuated by the clipping of her shoes as she crossed the floor back to her desk. 

“You and I both know this agency has no use for a detective who’s very being is about to crumble from fatigue.” Well, Kirigiri sure has never had a penchant for sugarcoating things. 

“I—!” 

“A  _ break _ . Saihara.” Kirirgiri’s hand stretches out to hold her upright as she leans against the desk with her hip, looking down her nose at him. “That’s all I’m asking from you. A few months at most, just some time to yourself and to get some rest.” 

He knew she was right, of course. He’s been hammering down on every case thrown at him the past few months (and with great results, at that) but he can barely remember the last time he truly took a day off. Sure, he gets weekends off from work, but it’s hard to focus on relaxing when he has to go back to casework in only a matter of days. 

A long break would probably do him some good…

“A few months..?” Shuichi asks hesitantly, swallowing down his nerves and pulling at a frayed thread from his jacket. 

Kirigiri seemed to be satisfied enough with the question, leaning back and walking behind her desk to sit down across from him. “I was thinking something around three months. Do you remember when Hayashi left for a few months last year?” She asks, readjusting one of the pencils on her desk. 

Shuichi nods, twirling the thread around his finger tightly, eyes roaming the dark wood of Kirigiri’s desk (He’d ended up forgetting his hat that morning. Curse the exhaustion that comes with bad sleeping habits). 

“Yes, well she was pushing herself too hard at the time as well and needed a break just like you do now,” Kirigiri says, nodding along with him. “Some of the other executives and I decided it’d be best if she traveled somewhere to cool herself down for a while.” 

“Which...Is what’s happening to me?” The thread was wrapped all around his finger, cutting off some of the circulation going to it. 

She plateaus her hands and rests her head upon them lightly. “Exactly.” 

With a small tug, the thread snaps off from his jacket. He’s silent for a moment, resting his eyes on the lavishly polished wood of Kirigiri’s desk as he thinks. It wasn’t exactly a horrible deal (not that it was much of a deal anyway) and he’s sure he’d benefit from it. If nothing else, he could at least ensure he’d make up for all the sleep he’s missed over the course of the last few months. 

“Alright,” He responds slowly, his head moving along with his words as if he was still chewing them over as they left his mouth. “Where would I be going?” 

She gives him a small smile, face softening the slightest bit. “There’s a town near the coast, a very small one,” She replies, reaching down into one of the many drawers in her desk to retrieve a slip of paper, to which she hands over to Shuichi. “Pointe Pleasant is what it’s called, one of the other executives has a home there for when he and his family need to get away from the city for a while, among others. He’s offered up his home there for employees under him to take advantage of when in need, or just when they need some time away.” 

“Oh my god,” Shuichi says, grabbing the pamphlet from Kirigiri’s hand. 

“What?” She asks, giving him a quizzical look as she gently closes the drawer. 

“You’re literally sending me away to the seaside to preserve my health like they used to in, like, the eighteen-hundreds.” 

Kirigiri huffs out a laugh as Shuichi glances to the pamphlet. The slip is single-sided and sums up a majority of what Kirigiri had just explained. The home itself was a two-story, but looked much more like a cottage than anything if he was honest. It seemed small, but that’s not really anything he’s ever worried about too much before. He has an apartment in the city for heaven’s sake. Being able to find a place to live that had a kitchen bigger than five floor tiles was a miracle all on it’s own. 

“There’s some groundwork that needs to be maintained, such as the garden and usual household cleaning, but other than that everything else should be taken care of. Think of it like a paid vacation.” 

“ _ Paid _ vacation?” He cringes slightly at how fast he whipped his head up, neck twinging in pain. 

“How else would you pay for groceries while there?” 

This was just too good to be true, it takes all of Shuichi’s might not to pinch his arm so tight it bleeds to make sure he’s not dreaming.

“Not to overstep coworker boundaries, but I think this’ll be good for you, Saihara. I can feel it.” Kirigiri says after a moment, resting her slim arms on her desk and leaning forward, a smile on her face. “Who knows, maybe you’ll even meet the love of your life there.” 

Shuichi blinks then snorts, “You think?” 

“Yes, absolutely. I’m psychic, you know?”

“What?” He smiles, brows knit together in confusion. 

“A saying my girlfriend is fond of. I think it’s rubbed off on me.” She says pleasantly. “Now off you go, I’m giving you the rest of the day off to pack, I’ll send you your train ticket. It leaves tomorrow, around ten in the morning if I’m not mistaken.” 

He blinks owlishly a few times again, then realizes what she’d just said. “O-oh, okay then.” He feels his face relax. He folds the pamphlet over a few times, then stands and slips it into his pocket. “Thank you so much, Kirigiri.”

“Of course,” she replies, letting her eyes fall shut as she nods once, a smile still resting easily on her face. “Have a lovely trip, Saihara.” 

\-- 

Sleep is a wonderful thing, Shuichi thinks as he walks down the empty sidewalks of Pointe Pleasant, luggage trailing behind him. It's never been something that's come easy to him, in fact, he's suffered from a horrible case of insomnia since he was a child. And god, it was just so unfortunate, because on the rare occasions he was able to get more than five hours of sleep, he felt absolutely  _ amazing _ . 

The night he was sent home to pack for his trip to Pointe Pleasant he'd spent most of the night overwhelmed with making sure he'd packed everything he'd need, and had ended up continuously waking up as soon as he'd enter a dream state, terrified he’d forgotten something. The train ride wasn't much better for Shuichi either, actually. He’d only been able to catch a few winks throughout the entire trek. A majority of it he spent being jostled around in his seat accidentally hitting his head on the window next to him more than a few times. He considers himself lucky to not be concussed at this point, honestly. 

Now though, Shuichi found himself occasionally looking down at the map on his phone, pointing him towards the house he’d be staying in the next few months, counting the clacks of the wheels of his luggage bags against the sidewalk as he walked. The house shouldn’t be too far from the train station, or at least that’s what the map was saying. At sixty-four clacks Shuichi finds himself passing a humble bakery with bread in the windows and its lights off for the night. Night time wind blew against the yellow awning, which looks as if it’s been through far worse than a little April wind. He’d have to get groceries the next morning, wouldn’t he? Maybe he’d stop in to see what they had on the racks when he went. 

The last time he’d gone to a bakery, he’d gotten a bundle of cinnamon white chocolate cookies. He smiled at the memory. Perhaps if they had it he’d get that kind tomorrow. 

Warm street lamps light his path about every thirteen clacks (Shuichi doesn’t consider himself a superstitious person. Like, at all, but he still found it to be a strange coincidence). There was a new moon tonight, too, so he supposed the lamps lit the cement well enough. At eighty-seven clacks he reaches a small convenience store that looks like it doubles as a grocery store when it’s open. 

“How convenient,” He says to nobody in particular, chuckling at his joke. 

At a hundred-three clacks Shuichi starts to approach a small hole-in-the wall building. Slowing as he reaches it, stopping finally at a hundred-ten clacks. He’s barely able to read the sign hanging above the door, but he thinks he sees the words ‘bookstore’ and ‘thrifted’ on it. A quick peek through one of the windows gives him all the conclusion he needs. Rows and rows and rows of thin bookshelves line the floor of the store, all filled to bursting with books of all sizes. This would probably be a good place to visit before he leaves town again, too. 

As he pulls away from the window, a light from above catches his eye. The building was extremely thin, crammed between two larger buildings that didn’t seem to have signs on them, but despite this managed to be respectably tall— at least three stories. On the third floor, a small window was open, and a flickering candle had been placed on the sill. When had that gotten there? Had he just not noticed? That’s extremely possible, sleep deprivation doesn’t do much for observational skills. Well now he kind of has to visit this place again, right? When he’s more awake, and less of a zombie. Perhaps in the morning…

He pulls his eyes away from the window and starts walking again. How many clacks was he at? 

\--

The house was small—cozy, his brain supplies. Comfortable, even. He’s not able to get a very good look at it, only taking the time to find the room he’d be occupying the next few months (a hundred-seventy-five clacks was the distance between the train station and the house). He thinks he saw a sink on his way, though. A couch probably. A few windows. Stairs. Really though, he could only think of one thing at the moment, and that was being overcome with the wonderful sensation of sleep. 

As soon as Shuichi collapses onto the soft, feathery bed, he finds himself falling into a deep sleep. And what a relief it is, to finally be able to relax for the first time in what feels like years. 

\--

“Did you know frogs eat their own children when they get too annoying?” 

“What?” 

“Oh, but that was a lie!” 

Shuichi sighs into the pit of his elbow, breath leaving him slowly as Ouma laughs across from him, leaning back in an already breaking library chair. 

"You're waaaaay too gullible, Saihara!" Ouma laughs, wiping away a fake tear from his eye. The front legs of the chair he was sitting on fell to the floor suddenly, making Shuichi jump in his seat. A few other library goers look over to their table, alarm and annoyance evident on their faces. He pulls his hat down over his eyes slightly. "I don't mind it though. In fact, it makes it, like, so much easier to mess with you that way!" He says, exaggerating the vowels in some of the words. 

Shuichi rolls his eyes, sitting up from his laxed position against the table's surface. Why had he decided to pair up with one of Hope's Peak academy’s most prominent troublemakers on his biology class assignment? Oh yeah, he didn't. Reality was that all his friends had ended up leaving him to partner up with someone else. Momota with Harukawa, Akamatsu with Iruma, even Amami (who also happened to be he and Ouma's only mutual friend) had ended up partnering up with Shinguji. 

It was with great reluctance that Shuichi asked Ouma to be his partner on the project, scared of what possible atrocities could come from it. Last he heard, Ouma had supposedly put temporary red hair dye in Enoshima's hair conditioner, exacting revenge on  _ something  _ she'd done to him, probably. (He swears up and down that her screams of rage could be heard from halfway across the country.)

He raises his arms above his head, craning his neck back to stretch his muscles. "Whatever, I guess," he murmurs, glancing down at the unopened biology textbook in front of the other boy. "Have you even read a single sentence out of your textbook yet?" 

"Uh, duh of course I have. I'm hurt you think I haven't!" 

He raises a brow, "Wounded, perhaps?" 

"Absolutely decimated," Ouma grins back at him. 

"Right," Shuichi smiles. "Well, we should probably get st—”

“How about we play a game?” Ouma asks, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. Shuichi feels like he’s just gotten whiplash from how fast the conversation seems to be changing. Ouma just stares at him with his large, moon-like eyes and an expectant look clear on his features. 

“Huh?” He replies, smartly. 

Ouma rolls his eyes. “I said ‘let’s play a game’, geez Saihara, you’re so slow sometimes.” He pauses to rest a hand on his chin, inspecting the other hand placidly. “But that was a lie, you know! Nishishi!” A bout of laughter erupts from the other boy suddenly, then he pauses again, grinning, “No but seriously, let’s play a game.” 

“We… Have a project to do?” he replies slowly, and he cringes into himself when the statement comes out sounding more like a question than a statement.

“A  _ project  _ that isn’t due for another week,” Ouma responds quickly, almost like he knew what Shuichi was going to say and already had a rebuttal in mind. Shuichi gives him an unconvinced look. “We can incorporate the game into our research. Come on Saihara, it’ll be fun, I promise!” He pouts dramatically, leaning down onto the table, arms outstretched towards Shuichi and making a grabbing motion with his hands. 

Shuichi sighs. What were the odds he’d get out of this situation without playing a game with Ouma? Thirty-three percent? No, that was way too high. Fifteen percent, perhaps? Maybe that was giving Shuichi too much credit. Five percent seemed healthy, maybe even three. 

“What game?” He asks after contemplating for a moment. 

“Twenty questions!” Ouma sits up quickly, leaning farther down the table to snatch up Shuichi’s biology textbook, to which Shuichi gives a very undignified yelp of protest in response. “I ask you a question about yourself and you answer, then you ask me a science-y question, and I answer then  _ I _ ask  _ you  _ a science-y question and you respond, then you ask me a personal question, and we go back and forth. Do you get it?” 

Shuichi hums. “Okay… But why do you need  _ my _ textbook for that?” 

“Mine’s a family heirloom, I can’t get it damaged.” Ouma nods, solemnly with his eyes closed. 

“These copies were printed, like, two years ago?” 

“First question!” Shuichi sighs for what feels like the hundredth time that day, and it was only four in the afternoon. “What’s the most illegal thing you’ve ever done?” 

“Starting off strong right off the bat, huh?” Shuichi asks, eyes widening in surprise. 

“Well of course! I plan to wring you dry of all your secrets so I can sell them to the mafia after this meeting!” Ouma replies, smiling like he’d just told Shuichi what his plans were for the weekend. Which, if he was telling the truth, Shuichi supposes it would be an accurate descriptor. 

“Th-that’s a lie!” 

“Tick Tock, Saihara!” 

He huffs, glancing to the bookshelves nearest to their table to think. “I…” 

“Oh don’t tell me you’ve never done something illegal.  _ Saihara  _ that’s so boring, oh my god,” Ouma exasperates, dragging his hands down the sides of his face. 

“I, um… Oh!” He exclaims after wracking his brain. “One time I was at a dinner party my Uncle was throwing, and some of the guests had glasses of alcohol, and when they set them down to go do something else, I took a sip of one of them, just to try it.” 

“Oh _ ,  _ underage drinking. That’s downright scandalous,” Ouma smirks, drawing out the ‘O’ sound.

“Yes,” Shuichi replies, smiling. He had purposefully left out the fact that he had spit out the drink just moments after, the taste much too strong for him. “Anyway, what do living organisms do in order to survive a changing ecosystem?” 

“Adapt. What happens when those organisms can’t or don’t adapt?” Ouma asks, leaning forward against the textbook. Shuichi could see some of the pages start to fold and crease. He was suddenly thankful he wasn’t renting the textbook. 

“They go extinct.” He replies, scraping one of his nails against the wooden table gently. “I ask you a question now?” 

“Yup,” Ouma answers, popping the consonant, and smiling wickedly. 

“Hmm…” He’s never really played a game like this with a stranger before (or at least, practically a stranger. Shuichi had barely ever spoken to Ouma before, let alone work on a previous assignment with him). What could he possibly want to know about the other boy? Actually, lot’s of things probably. He should start with something simple. “What’s your favorite scent?” 

“My favorite scent, huh? How drab,” Ouma says, looking up in thought, finger placed upon his chin. “The blood of my enemies, probably. Or cinnamon and vanilla.” His smile returns, “I bet you’ll never guess which one’s the truth.” 

Shuichi smiles back. “Absolutely not.” 

“Let’s see…” Ouma murmurs to himself, leaning back in his chair and squinting his eyes, staring at Shuichi. He forces himself not to squirm too much under the intense gaze, jumping slightly when he exclaims in triumph. “Do you have any piercings?” 

Shuichi feels his brows contort, “No? Not that I know of, at least.” He replies. “Do I look like I’d have piercings?” 

Ouma hums, throwing his hands back behind his head and leaning on them, “Well you seem kinda emo, and Amami-chan has a bunch of piercings and he’s also kind of emo too. Except like, the type that’s not actually emo and is semi-famous on social media, you know?” 

Shuichi sputters for a moment, rushing to come up with a defense for himself. “I-I am  _ not  _ emo! I just… Look… Like this…” 

Ouma remains to look convinced, pulling one hand away from his head to observe it, picking at his thumb nail, “Yeah, uh huh, sure.” 

“I’m not!” He whisper-yells across the table, face red from the sudden influx of staring he’d just received once more by the onlookers in the library. Suddenly a thought occurs to him, “Wait, Amami- _ chan _ ?” 

“Hmm? Oh yeah!” Ouma’s grin returns as he glances back to Shuichi. He tips his chair back again. “One of my many nicknames for that lanky tree. Why?” He asks, looking down at Shuichi from his angled perspective. 

“I was just w—” Shuichi starts, before being quickly interrupted. 

“Oh could it be that Saihara’s  _ jealous _ ?” 

“Th-That’s not—!” 

“Oh my god, you totally are!” Ouma yells, earning him his own stares from the others in the library. Honestly, Shuichi was surprised one of the librarians hadn’t kicked them out yet, considering how many times they’ve disturbed the quiet tranquility that usually inhabits the room. Ouma slams his chair back on the ground once more, his arms soon following after, landing loudly on the table as he kneels on his chair and leans forward towards Shuichi. “You’re jealous aren’t you?” 

He swallows. “I’m really not,” Shuichi replies, and he’s never been so grateful for his voice not shaking in his life. He could feel his face heat up from the close proximity to the other boy, and the stares from his peers weren’t exactly helping, no matter how concealed they tried to be. 

“Well, I’m not really opposed to giving you a nickname,” Ouma says, thinking aloud. “Besides, you’re pretty not-boring to hang out with so far and ‘Saihara-chan’ _does_ roll off the tongue.” 

Shuichi can’t will himself to say anything in response, only having the mental clarity to open and close his mouth repeatedly. Occasionally, noises that sort of resemble words escape him. He feels his blush travel further onto his face. His ears burn. 

“Aww, did I accidentally break you? How sad,” Ouma says leaning back to sit in his chair (mostly) properly, a few stray tears escaping his eyes. “I can’t believe you would just leave me hanging like that, especially after I was so generous in giving you a nickname, you’re so mean Saihara-chan!” Ouma was fully bawling now, furiously wiping away tears with his hands. 

Shuichi is quickly pulled from his stupor, “I-I’m sorry, please stop crying!” He responds, hands held out in front of him, as if he were about to do something like get up and wipe away Ouma’s tears, but almost as soon as they’d started, the tears stop. 

“Geez, Saihara-chan’s so serious, I was joking you know,” Ouma says, sniffing slightly, his smile returning. “You better get used to the nickname though, I’ll probably, like, never use your regular name ever again now! Nishishi!” 

“Oh,” Shuichi replies simply. What had he gotten himself into? Was he really suited to deal with such eccentricities? Probably not. But still… There was something inexplicably intriguing about Ouma. Like his next move was always something unexpected, and yet so predictable at the same time. Kind of like a cartoon. Yeah. He was animated, alive, and was certainly entertaining to be around, despite some minor confusions along the way.

A buzz came from the edge of the table on Ouma’s side and he quickly swiped up his phone to check the notification. “Well, I have to get going now, it seems, I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Shuichi’s eyes widen, “What about our project?” He exclaims standing up from his seat to watch as Ouma stuffs his so-called family heirloom of a textbook messily into his bag, pushing Shuichi’s book back towards him. 

“I’ll text you tonight! Maybe tomorrow,” he replies, shrugging his bag over his shoulder, already halfway across the library, waving goodbye to Shuichi.

“I don’t have your number though!” Shuichi calls, stumbling after the smaller boy. 

Ouma whips around at that and jogs back over to Shuichi. He flips his bag open and snatches a pen from within, pulling the cap off with his teeth and quickly pushing Shuichi’s sleeves back to his elbows and writing a series of numbers on his forearm. “Now you do,” Ouma grins. “See you tomorrow, Saihara-chan!” 

And with that, Ouma was gone, disappearing into the empty hallway. Shuichi stares at his arm for another moment, confused at what had just happened. He walks back over to the table where his bag sat when he regained his composure, grabbing it roughly. He shuffles around inside it for a few moments before finding his phone and unlocking it, submitting the number on his arm into his phone for future reference.

Shuichi shoves the phone back into his bag afterwards, reaching for his textbook to put in his bag as well and ignoring the awkward stares from the audience he’d acquired. When everything had been properly packed up, Shuichi left the library, walking towards the school dorms. 

Cold air hits his arm where his sleeve was still pulled up, making gooseflesh form. A buzz comes from his bag, making Shuichi stop in his tracks. He pulls out his phone from his bag and clicks it on. (He hadn’t given his number to Ouma, but that doesn’t stop him from hoping that somehow, he’d figured out Shuichi’s number.) 

**> Kaito Momota**

_4:13 pm._ _Hey bro! We still meeting for our workout today?_

Shuichi smiles. 

_4:13 pm._ _Yeah. Be there in 10._

He shoves his phone back into his bag, jogging quickly down the hallway to his room to change, The late afternoon sun sending a nostalgic glow through the long corridors. 

Maybe he’ll text Ouma after his workout. 

\--

Shuichi wakes up feeling the best he's felt in  _ months _ . 

He groans into his pillowcase, scrunching his eyes to block out the sunlight filtering into the room from the window. When was the last time he'd felt this warm in bed? Drowning in feather down comforters and freshly pressed sheets. 

He cracks an eye open, reluctantly raising an arm from under the blankets to shield his eye from the light, reaching for his phone with his other hand. He flails his arm to his side a few times before finally finding his phone. He presses the power button. 

_ 9:27 A.M. _

His train had arrived in the station around nine last night, and it had taken him what? Twenty minutes to walk to the house from there? And he had fallen asleep almost immediately, too, which means he'd successfully gotten over ten hours of sleep without waking up  _ once _ . When was the last time he was able to sleep that much? When was the last time he had slept this  _ late _ . 

Shuichi yawns as he stretches his arms above his head, knuckles gently knocking against the headboard. His eyes water as he opens them fully, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up, looking around the room. 

Overall, the room isn't extremely full, or impressive, really, but there was a certain charm to it. Sheer blue curtains were pulled to both the sides of the windows, of which there were two; one with a view of a couple flower bushes in the garden, the other only showing rows of spring foliage and tree. There's a bookshelf on the wall farthest from him, and a nightstand next to the bed, occupied with a lamp and a small, embroidered doily. His luggage bags were thrown haphazardly against the wall closest to the door, some even finding it in themselves to fall to the floor fully. 

Shuichi smiles to himself. He'd have to unpack today, and go shopping. This trip would be good for him, he tells himself for the umpteenth time. The weather outside seems great, sunny and warm and the epitome of spring. He's actually  _ rested  _ and he doesn't feel absolutely exhausted for once. 

"This trip will be good for me," Shuichi tells himself, voice cracking from not having used it yet that morning. Today was going to be a good day, and if it wasn't, then he still had three months of good days to have. 

This trip  _ will _ be good for him. He'll make sure of it if it’s the last thing he does. 

**Author's Note:**

> You made it to the end! Good for you! 
> 
> I plan to have the next chapter out either next week or the week after, depending on life things, so stay tuned!
> 
> I love to read comments, and since this is my first multi-chapter fic, I'd definitely love to hear any feedback anyone has!! 
> 
> Remember to take care of yourself :) take a shower if you haven't, eat something, drink some water, get some rest, maybe text your friends. I hope you have a lovely day <3<3<3


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